Eventually
by Skye Eagle
Summary: The Stolls got caught, and guess where they're getting sent to? That's right, Camp Green Lake. Rated T for some mild language.


**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue. Deal?**

**Eventually**

No POV

They both knew it would happen eventually, that their record would catch up to them. They just didn't know when or how. Now they're sitting here, on the bus, remembering.

_They climbed in through the sky light of the mansion. It was only one thing, they saw it through a window. They didn't know exactly what it was, nor did they care. They didn't know anything about the house or the owner, they just wanted the painting. It was beautiful, an old painting with Hermes. So they broke in. The plan was simple: In through the sky light, steal the painting, get out. 'What could go wrong?' was Travis' retort to his brother's doubt._

_ Of course the plan failed. The second they had lifted the painting up a millimeter, a blaring alarm went off. They scrambled up the rope and left. When they got down, they ran._

_ The police caught them later, as they walked the streets of the city. Travis' glove had ripped open on his finger, they found his fingerprints on the rope. And as we all know, no Stoll is there without the other._

Turns out that the house was Clyde Livingston's summer home. They were given a choice: Jail, or a juvenile detention facility. So now they sit, waiting to arrive at their destination. Not like they were planning on staying. How hard could it be to escape?

Connor's POV

I stare at the horizon. I'm so BOOORRRREEEEEDDDD! The landscape is like a desert-no water, no plants. A hole pops up. One, then more. How did those get there? Why are they here? I nudge Travis. "Dude, do you see those holes?" He looks out my window and his face turns confused, which probably matched my expression. The bus lurches and we fall forward. "Oww…" I hit my head on the bar we're handcuffed to. The guard(Did I forget to mention him? Oh well.)snorted before uncuffing us from that stupid pole. I rub my head and follow the guard. I'm feeling somewhat dazed as we follow him out. We've been on the bus for over eight hours.

"Be careful," the bus driver says as Travis walked down the steps.

I'm not sure if the bus driver means for him to be careful going down the

steps, or if he's telling him to be careful at Camp Green Lake. Which has neither a lake nor almost anything green.

"Thanks for the ride," I say. My mouth is dry and my throat hurts. So much for water bottles. Travis finishes exiting the bus, and I follow, my feet hitting the hard, dry dirt. There

is a band of sweat around our wrists where the handcuffs had been.

The land is barren and desolate. We can see a few rundown buildings and some

tents. Farther away there's a cabin beneath two tall trees. Those two trees are the

only plant life I can see. There aren't even weeds.

The guard leads us to a small building. A sign on front says, YOU ARE

ENTERING CAMP GREEN LAKE JUVENILE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY. Next

to it was another sign which declared that it was a violation of the Texas Penal Code to

bring guns, explosives, weapons, drugs, or alcohol onto the premises. I takes a bit because of my dyslexia, but I manage to read the sign. I can't help but think, Well, duh! By Travis' amused snort, I have a feeling he's thinking the same thing.

The guard leads us into the building, where we feel the welcome relief of

air-conditioning. Yes!

A man is sitting with his feet up on a desk. He turns his head when the guard, Travis and

I enter, but otherwise doesn't move. Even though he's inside, he wears

sunglasses and a cowboy hat. He also held a can of soda, and the sight of it made

me even more aware of my thirst. My fingers twitch. Must...Not...Steal...

We wait while the bus guard gives the man some papers to sign.

"You've been smoking," the bus guard says. Sure enough, in the ashtray by the window, there's a half smoked cigar.

"I restarted smoking last month," says the man in the cowboy hat. He has a tattoo of a

rattlesnake on his arm, and as he signs his name, the snake's rattle seemed to wiggle. Weird."I used to eat a sack of seeds a week. Now I smoke a pack of these a week again. Warden says I'll have to stop again soon. " The guard laughs.

There must be a small refrigerator behind his desk, because the man in the

cowboy hat produces two more cans of soda. For a second I hope that one

might be for me, but the man gives one to the guard and says the other is for the

driver. Eh, we can steal some later.

"Nine hours here, and now nine hours back," the guard grumbles. "What a day."

I think about the long, miserable bus ride and feel a little sorry for the

guard and the bus driver. That would suck.

The man in the cowboy hat takes a drag of his cigar.

Then he walks around the desk to us. "My name is Mr. Sir," he says. "Whenever

you speak to me you must call me by my name, is that clear?"

Travis hesitates. "Uh, yes, Mr. Sir," he says, though I can't imagine that is

really the man's name. I just nod and try not to laugh.

"You're not in the Girl Scouts anymore," Mr. Sir says. Really?

We have to remove our clothes in front of Mr. Sir, who made sure we aren't hiding anything. Awkward much? He then gives us each two sets of clothes and a towel. Each set consisted of a long-sleeve orange jumpsuit, an orange T-shirt, and yellow socks. I'm not sure if the socks were yellow originally.

We're also given white sneakers, an orange cap, and a canteen made of heavy

plastic, which unfortunately was empty. Darn. I really need some water. The cap had a piece of cloth sewn on the back of it, for neck protection. Judging by the weather, I'll need it.

We get dressed. The clothes smell like soap. I don't like the smell of soap. Boy, I miss camp.

Mr. Sir tells us we should wear one set to work in and one set for relaxation. Laundry is done every three days. On that day our work clothes will be washed.

Then the other set will become our work clothes, and we'll get clean clothes to

wear while resting.

"You are to dig one hole each day, including Saturdays and Sundays. Each hole

must be five feet deep, and five feet across in every direction. Your shovel is your

measuring stick. Breakfast is served at 4:30."

We must looked surprised, because Mr. Sir chuckled and goes on to explain that they

start early to avoid the hottest part of the day. "No one is going to baby-sit you," he

adds. "The longer it takes you to dig, the longer you will be out in the sun. If you dig

up anything interesting, you are to report it to me or any other counselor. When you

finish, the rest of the day is yours."

We nod to show we understand.

"This isn't a Girl Scout camp," said Mr. Sir. We already know _that_.

He checks Travis' backpack and allows him to keep it. Then he leads us outside into the blazing heat.

"Take a good look around you," Mr. Sir says. "What do you see?" I think up a witty remark, but stop myself. '_Not the time Connor'_. I scold myself.

We look out across the vast wasteland. The air seems thick with heat and dirt. "Not much," Travis answers, then hastily adds, "Mr. Sir."

Mr. Sir laughs. "You see any guard towers?"

"No."

"How about an electric fence?"

"No, Mr. Sir."

"There's no fence at all, is there?"

"No, Mr. Sir."

"You want to run away?" Mr. Sir asks him, though I know he's asking both of us.

Travis looks back at him, unsure on what to answer.

"If you want to run away, go ahead, start running. I'm not going to stop you."

I don't know what kind of game Mr. Sir is playing, but I don't like it. My gaze flickers to the gun on his hip.

"I see you're looking at my gun. Don't worry. I'm not going to shoot you." He taps

his holster and grins. "This is for yellow-spotted lizards. I wouldn't waste a bullet on you."

"I'm not going to run away," Travis says, but his fingers are crossed.

"Good thinking," says Mr. Sir. "Nobody runs away from here. We don't need a fence. Know why? Because we've got the only water for a hundred miles. You want to run away? You'll be buzzard food in three days."

I can see some kids dressed in orange and carrying shovels almost dragging themselves toward the tents.

"You thirsty?" asks Mr. Sir.

"Yes, Mr. Sir," Travis says warily.

"Well, you better get used to it. You're going to be thirsty for the next twenty-two

months." Dang it.

**This was bound to happen eventually. Sooner or later, the Stolls are going to get caught and sent off. Instead of that(kinda) I sent them off to Camp Green Lake.**

**What?!**

**Hehe….Just don't kill me.**

**Why would I do that?**

**Sorry Gaz. I thought you were Beth….Anyways, Please review! Now, I have to leave incase Beth has decided to kill me...**


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